Holland Park
Butterfly – Anne Sophie
Duprels
Pinkerton – Joseph Wolverton
Suzuki – Patricia Orr
Sharpless – David Stephenson
Goro – Robert Burt
Kate Pinkerton – Chloe Hinton
Bonze – Barnaby Rea
Prince Yamadori – John Lofthouse
The Imperial Commissioner –
Alistair Sutherland
Butterfly’s Mother – Lindsay Bramley
The Aunt – Loretta Hopkins
The Cousin – Maud Millar
Yakuside – Nathan Morrison
Sorrow – Ben Bristow
Paul Higgins (director)
Neil Irish (designs)
Richard Howell (lighting)
Namiko Gahier-Ogawa (movement)
Opera Holland Park Chorus (chorus
master: Holly Mathieson)
City of London Sinfonia
Manlio Benzi (conductor)
There is a sense in which it
all began in London, Puccini having been seized in 1900 with the idea of an
opera on this subject after watching David Belasco’s play here. London, in the
guise of Opera Holland Park, certainly repaid the favour on this occasion. Not
only, vile weather notwithstanding, did it aid my already rapid thawing towards
Puccini; it offered a production and performance which, considered as a whole,
were probably the finest I have yet seen at Holland Park.
It was certainly a relief to
be spared the vulgarity of a Zeffirelli-like production. Paul Higgins’s staging
and Neil Irish’s designs were not abstract, but they were (at least by some
standards) relatively spare, offering a space in which the action may unfold
rather than overwhelming it. The screens at the back of the stage both
facilitate comings and goings and offer a welcome impression of Japanese or at
least Orientalist stylisation; likewise the costumes are ‘faithful’ to time and
place, without becoming an end in themselves. The American flag is as
noticeable on stage as it is in Puccini’s score, perhaps a little less, but the
effect in both is as much exotic as straightforwardly anti-imperialist. I
cannot help but wish that Puccini had been a little more restrained in his use
both of the ghastly Star-Spangled Banner
and those too-obvious pentatonicisms, but at least he, like the staging, is
relatively even-handed. (I suppose we should remind ourselves that what has
become wearily commonplace for us was still very much new musical territory not
so long after the celebrated Paris exhibitions.) Higgins also reminds us and
holds in our mind that Cio-Cio-San is a dancer, Namiko Gahier-Ogawa’s movement
working well in context. Nothing peripheral, however, is permitted to obscure
the central tragedy: a signal achievement from which many directors could
learn.
That also depends, of course,
on a convincing assumption of the title role. Anne Sophie Duprels offered
something rather more than merely convincing; she inhabited the role completely,
offering a rounded portrayal in dramatic and vocal terms alike. Not a single
false note, in any sense, was struck, and one sympathised to a degree beyond
the expectations engendered by what can often seem a silly role. Butterfly’s
delusion, then, convinced at least as much as her attraction. There was
strength without steel, nobility without hauteur.
Joseph Wolverton’s Pinkerton occasionally sounded a little too Italianate in
the pejorative sense, and proved somewhat lacking in stage presence; still,
with the American flag on his side, perhaps he did not need them. Chloe Hinton offered hints of something far
more in the role of his wife, but given the nature of that role, they could be
little more than that. Patricia Orr, however, impressed greatly as a wise Suzuki,
beautiful and graceful of voice and movement. David Stephenson’s Sharpless
likewise made much, though never too much, of words and music. The suitors' and other smaller roles were all well taken.
The chorus sang and acted creditably
throughout, clearly well trained. I was surprised by how little I missed the
sound of a larger orchestra, the losses proving largely cosmetic rather than
fundamental. Indeed, one heard in the City of London Sinfonia’s performance
(strings 8.6.4.4.2) a great deal more of the inner workings – more than once I
found myself recalling aspects of Die
Meistersinger – than one might in a larger-scaled, conventional account.
(That is not to claim that I think chamber orchestras should become the norm, but
simply to note that, given a high enough level of performance, virtue can arise
from necessity.) Manlio Benzi shrewdly marshalled his forces, imparting
dramatic tension throughout and steering as clear as might reasonably have been
expected from sentimentality.
